


“call me when you get home.”

by clickingkeyboards



Series: one hundred ways to say 'i love you' [49]
Category: Murder Most Unladylike Series - Robin Stevens
Genre: Angst, Autism, F/F, Family Fluff, First Kisses, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 08:00:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21960019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clickingkeyboards/pseuds/clickingkeyboards
Summary: PART 5The Wells & Wong Detective Society is launching an investigation into George Mukherjee and Alexander Arcady, believing them to be in love. To mirror this development, the Junior Pinkertons are launching an investigation into Daisy Wells and Hazel Wong, believing them to be in love.Modern AUWritten for the forty-ninth prompt in the '100 ways to say "I love you"' prompt list by p0ck3tf0x on Tumblr.
Relationships: Alexander Arcady/George Mukherjee, Daisy Wells/Hazel Wong, Harold Mukherjee/Bertie Wells
Series: one hundred ways to say 'i love you' [49]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1533164
Kudos: 16





	“call me when you get home.”

**DAISY**

Why the fuck did I say that?

In all honesty, I don’t regret saying that Hazel is the _best thing I have come up with_. However, I do regret making it loud enough to be heard across the table. In the middle of a gesture, Hazel freezes and almost drops the glass she is holding, her dark eyes fixed on me and wine-wet lips parted with shock. Bertie chokes on his mouthful of wine, covering his mouth with his hand to stop it dripping onto his white shirt, while Harold sets his glass on the table so sharply that I am sure I hear a crack. Across the table, Alexander sharply withdraws his hand from where it was outstretched across the table as he explained something, while George kicks me _rather hard_ in the shin and shoots me a look with raised eyebrows and an alarmed parting of his dark lips that speaks of words that I should not have laced with so much meaning and implication. 

“Well,” comes my brother’s rather startled voice, worn from an odd sort of disuse, “starters?”

Harold and Alexander both start laughing. This prompts Bertie to break out laughing too, and even Hazel follows suit.

My eyes flit over to George. Despite the laughter surrounding us, George Mukherjee is oddly still. His lips are still parted slightly and his eyes are focused on something in the far distance in his thousand-yard stare.

“George, are you alright?” Harold asks, leaning over to his brother. “What’s wrong?”

He waves his brother away with a dismissive hand. “I’m fine, H. I’m only thinking.”

When everybody has looked away to debate whether or not the person who wrote the menu was on crack (as it says a burger with added bacon is vegetarian), George looks at me.

“You like her, don’t you?” he asks in a whisper.

“I don’t know.”

“Deduce it, Daisy. How did you figure out that I have a crush?”

I close my eyes, recalling my notebook, my deductions, my conclusion.

**Reasons that George has a crush on Alexander:**

  * **He compliments Alexander often.**



That was when I began the list. We had just walked into drama and Alexander tapped George’s shoulder. After a moment of consideration, George delivered the seemingly off-hand line, “Nice shirt, Arcady.”

“Thanks, George. Now, come on, we have a stage to set up.”

The two of them walked off (George with a deeply assessing look cast playfully in my direction) and I retreated to the corner to sit with my group. Amina El Maghrabi greeted me graciously, offering me a seat beside her. I smiled and turned into their conversation, only to find that it was about Alexander.

“God, he looks _hot_ today!” Jose Pritchett said.

With a breathy gasp, Clementine added, “Oh, _doesn’t_ he? Especially his shirt, how _tight_ it is!”

I paused, considered.

Perhaps that was why George had delivered such an innocuous compliment after careful consideration: he was hiding Clementine’s observation inside a neutral phrase.

Not an hour later, Hazel caught me during break. “Daisy!” she said with a grin. “I missed you this morning, the traffic was awful.”

I looked her up and down, noticing how… complementary her clothes are.

Clementine compliments Amina’s clothes all the time, tells her how sexy she looks. It’s only natural to think, to say. But I don’t want to say it aloud. It feels… wrong.

“You look lovely, Hazel. I like your skirt.”

She grins, clearly shocked by my compliment. “Thanks, Daisy. Now, come on, we have a teacher to investigate.”

  * **He notices the little things about Alexander.**



Only the following day, I met up with all of the Detective Society and the Junior Pinkertons during our free period (which was first) to discuss the case we were investigating.

“Kitty, your mascara is awkward,” I told her when she walked in.

With a laugh, she said, “I know, it ran out this morning.”

Alexander walked in behind her, smiling at Kitty and saying, “Nice lipstick, Kitty! It looks lovely.”

Trust him to find the good in everybody.

George and Hazel walked in, the former instantly making a beeline for Alexander and ruffling his golden hair. “You got a haircut.”

“You noticed?” he asked, looking surprised and slightly pink.

“Of course.” Hurriedly, George sat down.

Hazel, meanwhile, had walked over to behind me and leant over me, her head in front of mine and her hair hanging down and brushing the table. “Daisy!” she said, her enormous grin almost blinding me. “Hi!”

I smiled back at her. “You’ve got a new necklace.”

“I do!” she put a hand over it where it was hanging down and brushing the top of my head. “You noticed?”

“Of course.”

  * **He often starts the conversation.**



Alexander was in one of his low, nervous moods.

His leg rocketed up and down under the table and his every other word was stammered and mangled beyond recognition.

“I— well— you see, it’s really— I— I— I— I’m fi—”

George walked over. As it was a first-period drama lesson (the sort that makes me want to jump off a cliff as nobody is functional during the first period), everybody was half asleep and the two of them hadn’t seen each other yet that day. He set his hands on Alexander’s shoulders from behind and said, “Hey, Alex. How are you?”

“I— well— fuck— it’s—”

With a sigh and an almost fond look, George glanced about to check for people looking at the scene. When he realised that it was only me, he went back to Alexander, running his hand through the blond’s hair and said, “I’m guessing that you’re not alright.”

“N—no.”

“Right.” Sighing heavily, George said, “Want me to talk to you?”

“Yes.”

“Alright. Well, last night…”

Later that day, I rushed up to a seemingly panicked Hazel and said to her, “I have a lead!”

The fright and panic and worry dropped from her features and she said, “Can I follow it with you?”

“Naturally.” I looped my arm through hers and off we went.

I could no longer think of exact points.

All I knew was that I fitted every point on the list.

  * He initiates hanging out.
  * I catch him looking at Alexander at weird times.
  * He asks about Alexander’s family.
  * He asks deeps questions.
  * He makes jokes about dating Alexander.
  * He talks about Alexander to other mutual friends. 
  * You catch them looking at you at strange times.
  * He’s very hands-on with Alexander.
  * They always wind up alone together. 
  * He pays extra attention when Alexander is talking while in a group setting.
  * He smiles more around Alexander.
  * He sticks by Alexander’s side in a group setting.
  * He discusses his future with Alexander.
  * He confides in Alexander more than he confides in anyone else.
  * He does his best to look nice around Alexander.
  * People Alexander has never met know about him from what George has said.
  * George has seen every side of Alexander.
  * He attempts to make Alexander jealous.
  * He makes subtle moves.



Fuck.

_I should not have said that._

_Hazel knows now._

_She didn’t react how she was supposed to._

_Nothing is going right._

A crawling sort of feeling makes it way up the back of my neck, pricking and stinging and aching, and I reach back to yank on my own hair where the horrid feeling is, desperate to get it out.

The crawling feeling proceeds the creeping flushed of dread I get before things become _too much_.

“Daisy, what are you doing?” Bertie asks. “Are you alright?”

I continue to tug on the hair at the nape of my neck, resting my elbows on the table so it’s less noticeable to the patrons around us.

“I’m fine.”

Alexander pauses from where he is reaching for Hazel’s napkin to add to his collection of origami napkin swans, a nervous habit that I am all too used to. “Daisy,” he says with the tone he implores around George, “what’s wrong?”

A cold flush seeps up my spine and I say, “Give me a moment,” getting to my feet and rushing from the restaurant.

* * *

The shock of the London air is what I need. There’s a railing partitioning the pavement from the road and I lean against it.

There is something about cool air that calms me, soothes me, wraps around my mind and fills me up. It pushes everything into the back of my mind and forces me to think objectively.

_I just sort of confessed to Hazel._

_The best thing I’ve come up with._

_Why did they all react that way?_

_Did I blush?_

_Did Hazel?_

“Detectives aren’t immune from the cold, Daisy.” I feel something warm cover my shoulders and turn to see Hazel letting go of my coat and smiling. “Are you alright?”

“I needed to breathe.”

“I’ll breathe with you.”

She leans on the railing beside me, mirroring me by resting her forearms on the cool metal.

I do not notice her slide m closer to mine but I feel the pressure as her body makes contact with mine. Our elbows bump together, and her boot brushes against my bare ankle. Her hand brushes the back of my neck, and soon her arm is around my shoulders and she is warm, solid, against me. 

“I need to breathe,” I tell her again.

“You’re breathing just fine, Daisy. You’ve never had an issue with it before so why should there be one now?”

There is humour in her voice and I want to choke it off.

“Shut up.”

She withdraws sharply, her hands awkwardly tangling together in front of her over the railing. I reach forward to catch one of her hands with my own. “Stop moving.”

Still fidgeting, she flexes her hand within mine, shifts on her feet, and moves the other in and out of her pocket. She gets like this, mad and scattered and frantic and fluttery.

“Stop moving!”

I grab her shoulder and turn her towards me. We are inches apart and I can feel her breath on my face, and it crystalises in the air between us as she stares up at me.

“Daisy?”

I lean down and I kiss her. “Hazel…” I breathe before our lips meet.

When she doesn’t move, I sling my arms around her neck and close the gap.

It’s warm.

Warmth is all I can gather from the kiss.

“I have to leave.” She leans back and reaches a hand up to my cheek. “My father wants me home to look after my sisters.”

There is a look in her eyes of something she is not saying. I lean down to kiss her again, my hands moving to her hips. “Call me when you get home.”


End file.
